Simon Riley really delving into his oral fixation.
See, you'd asked Simon to stop smoking after reading that it would damage his sperm. Trying for a baby apparently meant he needed to give up his vice.
But you were his missus, and he'd learned a long time agoâdon't fucking argue with the missus.
Already by day three Simon was buying multiple packs of gum a day. Grumbling around base and the house. But he wouldn't take it out on you, never on you.
Your tits? Different story.
Simon had been sucking on your tits for almost an hour, switching between your now swollen and spit slick nipples. Yes, it felt fantasticâbut Jesus Christ what was his obsession tonight?
"Simon." You murmur, tugging at his hair to pull him up. "You're usually inside me by now."
Simon grumbled, licking his lips. "You had me quit smokin' my fucking mouth needs to be doin' somethin'"
After that confession, Simon was always on you.
He comes home from work, and he pushes your shirt up while you read some book on the couch. His mouth immediately locking around your nipple. The tension built throughout the day leaving his body.
He'd suck on your tits of a morning instead of going for his usual smoke. Though you point out that he spends a lot longer on your nipples than he ever did his cigarettes.
You can't even take your shirt off around him without Simon pawing at your tits and sucking on you for at least five minutes before you finally batt him off to go cook dinner.
After a long weekend though, you went to work with sore tits. Your coworkers getting excited after hearing you'd been trying for a baby and now you were adjusting your bra all day.
Simon only chuckled when you complained to him that afternoon, letting you frustratedly throw your bra at him. "Just tell them that your husbands helping you practice for when you're actually breastfeeding."
Lieutenant!reader, who gets called in to help the 141 with an extremely taxing operation, after Laswell insisted that your set of skills will be extremely helpful for the following missions. Price accepted the temporary addition to his team immediatelyâan extra set of skillful hands was always needed.
Upon your arrival you greeted everyone accordingly, settling into the barracks. For the rest of your first day Soap kept attempting to get to know you, but hell you were even less talkative than Lt, just nodding along or dryly responding to his questions, your face emotionless for the entire duration of the small talk.
Then, Ghost mutters a single dry comment from the corner of the room and you smirkâfucking smirk, nearly chuckle too.
After that, Soap couldnât stop noticing the tension between you and his Lieutenant.
The lingering eye contact during briefings. The arguments that felt too personal. The way he would stand just a little too close beside you during training, gloved hand brushing your shoulder as he corrected your stance.
âYouâre overcompensating,â Ghost said one afternoon behind the shooting range.
âIâm adjusting for wind.â
âYouâre adjusting badly.â
You shot him a glare over your shoulder. âFunny coming from someone who missed center twice.â
Soap felt like he was interrupting something with the way the two of you stared each other down like the rest of the world had vanished.
Later that night, he cornered Ghost near the armory.
âWhat's going on between ya too?â
Ghost didnât even look up from cleaning his rifle. âNothing.â
Ghost reassembled the magazine with slow, deliberate movements. âYou imagininâ things.â
âIâm telling you, Lt, every time she walks into a room, you both look ready to either kill each other or tear each otherâs clothes off.â
That finally earned him a glare, âDrop it, Johnny.â
Soap did. Technically.
But over the next ten months, things only became more suspicious. Ghost always sat beside you during briefings. You always looked for him first after nasty fights out in the field during missions. Neither of you were affectionate, but somehow that made it worse. Every interaction carried this unbearable intensity, like a live grenade with the pin halfway pulled.
Then the operation ended with the enemy successfully neutralized.
The team crowded into a dim pub near base, Soap sat across from you and Ghost, still mentally trying to solve whatever strange thing existed between the two of you.
Thatâs when he noticed the silver ring on your finger, he could swear it wasn't there before.
He blinked. âYe married?â
You took a sip of your beer. âYeah, for a few years now."
Soap stared at you in disbelief. "Ten bloody months and ye never mentioned that?â
You only shrugged, amused, "I don't really talk about my personal life at work, MacTavish"
âWhatâs next?â he laughed, turning toward Ghost. âYou married too, Lt?â
âYeah,â Ghost answered calmly.
Soap barked out a laugh. âAye, right.â He took a sip from his whiskey, "Good one, Lt"
âHeâs not joking,â you said as a matter-of-factly.
Soap looked between the two of you slowly.
Everything clicked into place at once.
The staring. The arguments. The tension.
Soap rubbed his temples with one hand, speechless. âSteaming Jesus.â
Ghost leaned back in his chair, unfazed. âTook you long enough.â
he's a typical military male. mean, blunt, and cold. he's not much for pda with his love, it's not that he's ashamed of you or anything, but at most he holds your hand if you ask him. he's ghostâhe has a reputation to uphold!
so no, you can't take photos of him in your girly bed that has a concerning amount of plushies and the softest, pinkest blankets he's ever had the pleasure of sleeping with, and you can't call him baby or a childish petname that isn't si or my love because he's a grown man pushing into his mid thirties almost forties and he doesn't want his teammates to think he's a sissy.
he wouldn't hear the end of it if his teammates knew that he sleeps best with his head on your chest and your arms wrapped around him like mother and son, protecting him from the cold, dark world. society expects him to be dominating and masculine. in the barracks at night, his teammates often ask him for deets on how he fucks his woman back home, but truth be told when they ask, his mind only thinks about how hard he cums inside of you when he makes love to you deep and slow, suckling on your breasts with your hands dragging deliciously up and down his back, soothing him until he's nothing but a trembling and whimpering messâso instead he tells them to go fuck themselves.
in public, you'll whine and complain when he declines your offer to hold him, so he lets you steal a kiss or two as compensation. however, simon has a tiny dilemma when it comes to you. he may act cold and unaffected, but deep in his heart he's an absolute sucker for your attention and praise. once he got ahold of you, it's like he became addicted to this thing that people like you call loveâyour love.
so when you pull away, balance flat on your feet, simon stares down at you with round gleaming eyes that tell you everything that he can't say. please, more.
and you deliver, because your simon gives you all you want and he deserves to receive the same treatment. you get back on your tippy toes and press your soft lips against his, to which he instantly responds with pressing his against yours. he knows he said only a kiss, but his hands seem to have a mind of their own as one of them cup the back of your head, not giving you the chance to step away.
the kiss gets more wild than he anticipated. in the back of his mind, as he flicks his tongue against your bottom lip, he wonders where his sense of control went, but his eyes are already glazing over and soon the kiss turns into a sloppy thing, saliva threatening to spill from the corner of his mouth as you absolutely ravage your boyfriend.
there's many people around the two of you, giving disapproving faces as you... ruin him. he feels destroyed. weak. this is not how it's supposed to be. he's the one meant to press you into the wall, groping you, but no, you're the one who is cupping the bulge in his pants without a care in the world, parting from him just to whisper "you like that, baby?" before you're back crashing your lips against his, to which he nastily groans at.
he's a blushing mess, eyes glossy and chest heaving as he pants into the kiss. he lets you nip at his lips and draw blood, lets you drink him up until you pull away suddenly with a lewd pop!, licking his saliva off your lips as you look at him with a mischievous smirk, satisfied at the sight of your boyfriend, usually composed and as stoic as stone, now an absolute mess; pink in the cheeks and sucking on his own bottom lip from shyness, his hands fumbling with the hem of your shirt.
domestic!geto who keeps his hair tied up with the same elastic you once gave him â he says itâs just convenient, but heâll never use uses another one.
domestic!geto who he ties his hair up lazily in the morning, a few strands always falling loose. you tease him for it, but he never fixes it. says you like it that way anyway.
domestic!geto who reads while you nap, sometimes out loud without realizing it, and his voice becomes calming white noises to your ears eventually.
domestic!geto who is the type to quietly fix things around the house before you notice theyâre broken. kind of like magic. youâll wake up and the door just works. just like that.
domestic!geto whose clothes always end up mixed with yours because he insists laundry âdoesnât need labels.â
domestic!geto who lets you braid his hair when youâre bored, even if it looks ridiculous â heâll still wear it like that until he sucks it up eventually. he never does, though. ever.
domestic!geto who you catch him smiling at you when you talk about random things, and heâll look away like it never happened. nerd. cough cough. dork.
domestic!geto who keeps your favorite snacks in the cabinet, but pretends he doesnât know which ones you like best. he says he just âthought youâd like âem.â but you know itâs a lie.
domestic!geto who texts you âcome home safeâ every single time you leave, even if youâre just running errands.
domestic!geto who hums old songs while cleaning, sleeves rolled up, morning glory casted on his face.
domestic!geto who always makes tea for two, even when youâre not there â itâs a habit he doesnât wanna break.
domestic!geto who, when you fall asleep on him, he stays still for hours just to not wake you, thumb tracing small imaginary circles on your hand.
domestic!geto who folds your laundry with incredible neatness but leaves his robes draped over the couch. you call it laziness and he calls it balance.
domestic!geto who has a dry sense of humor â calm, unbothered, but he always says something that catches you off guard and makes you laugh when least expected.
domestic!geto who he doesnât take pictures often, but you catch him staring at you like heâs memorizing every detail for later.
domestic!geto who and he always, always kisses your forehead before sleep. even if heâs tired, even if youâre already out cold. a quiet promise, one he never says out loud.
kissing xavier and calling him a pretty boy between every kiss and smiling because heâs soooo red and heâs fighting a smile back because he doesnât wanna admit how much he loves ur compliments and then u call him ur pretty bunny and he freezes and then ur like âmy handsome knightâ and something in him snaps and he just flips u over and pins you to the bed and kisses u crazy style until youâre pushing him softly so u can catch your breath and his face is still soooo red but his eyes are dark and heâs staring at you like heâs gonna devour u whole âŠ. glup
⥠⹠getting his baby's ears pierced somehow hurt satoru more than it hurt her.
he was apprehensive to begin with, but he let himself be swayed by his wifeâs reassuring smile and her steady hand on his face, telling him â promising him â it would be over and done with in seconds and that she wouldnât even be in much pain.
âi got my ears pierced as a baby,â youâd explained, rocking the topic of conversation back and forth on your chest at the time. âi donât even remember it! sheâll be okay, honey.â
âshe cries when i leave the room!â he had whined back, his hand gently rubbing up and down his daughter's back as the 6-month-old had begun to fall asleep on you, âhow is she gonna be âokayâ with a needle through her ears??â satoru seriously needed to learn how to say no, though, because youâd convinced him in the end.
bouncing the pudgy infant on his knee and making faces to keep her entertained, he looked around nervously, watching you talk to the piercer with a polite smile. he just sighed, still a little bitter heâd been so easily talked into letting this happen to his sweet baby girl.
âdaddyâs sorry for letting mommy talk me into this,â he mumbled in dramatic defeat, like heâd failed her and didnât deserve to live. his daughter was oblivious and too preoccupied trying to shove her fingers into her mouth to try and make sense of whatever he was saying, and all he got was a garbled âbaah!â in return.
âokaaayy, pumpkin, are we ready?â you came back over cooing. her small body wriggled as satoru begrudgingly repositioned her in front of the young woman about to shove holes through his poor princessâs ears. making a point to ignore your husbandâs glare, you helped hold her still. the young woman, also nervously avoiding your husbandâs hole-dwelling stare, cleared her throat awkwardly and gave the 3-second countdown, holding the piercing gun to her tiny left ear before it clamped down with a sharp clack.
you and satoru held your breath and checked her over. it took a long moment, long enough to give you the false hope that maybe your baby was one of the ones that didnât cry, but eventually, inevitably, her doughy cheeks began to puff up and redden, her nose scrunched and her big eyes spilled over with tears. then came that gut-wrenching wail.
âdaddyâs sooorrryyy.â satoru immediately coddled her, looking ready to start crying himself. âohh, daddyâs sorry, princess, i know, i knowâŠâ his lip jutted out in a sympathetic pout. âmean mommy for making you do this.â he swatted at your hand when you reached to comfort your baby, glaring through his own glossy eyes as he had to hold her still again so she could get her second one over and done with. he knew he had to let it happen, but the tears and the pouty lip felt like they could cleave his heart in two.
another sharp clack!, and her wailing turned into the screams of a banshee. satoru cuddled her closer onto his shoulder, as if he could just smother the crying away, and rubbed her back, 1.) so his daughter wouldnât see him crying, because he WAS crying, and 2.) so he could attempt to take her mind off of what he could only assume was the worst pain she'd ever felt since birth. he quickly shooed the poor woman away from his daughter, his eyes visibly wet with tears. you couldn't resist a quiet, sympathetic laugh, but he ignored you.
âoh, i knowww, i know,â he sniffled, rocking the wailing infant back and forth. ââm so sorry, baby girl, daddyâs sorryyyâŠâ he didn't put his daughter down at all that night. he massaged her tiny ears whenever she started to cry, distracted her with toys and kisses.
âsheâs literally never doing that again,â he told you later that night, watching her sleep on the monitor. he shook his head when you chuckled. âiâm serious, my heart canât go through any more of that. she can get them pierced again when iâm dead.â
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